Join Bill Myers, author of the supernatural/suspense/Christian novel,The Face of God, as he virtually tours the blogosphere April 4 – 29 2011 on his first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book!

About Bill Myers

Writer/director Bill Myers’s first major success was as
co-creator/writer/co-producer of Focus on the Family’s
children’s video series, McGee and Me (40 awards, broadcast in 80 countries, 4.5 million books and videos sold). On its heels he wrote the My Life as… series (over 2.1 million books sold).Other successes include his teen series, Forbidden Doors (winner of the C.S. Lewis Honor Award), and his best selling adult novels, Blood of Heaven, Fire of Heaven, Eli, Soul Tracker, The Face of God, and The Wager
(also a motion picture staring Randy Travis). As a
writer/director, his work has won over 60 national and
international awards, and as an actor he was the voice of Jesus in the
NIV Audio Bible and has made several guest appearances
on Adventures in Odyssey. His books and videos have sold over 8 million copies.
He holds an honorary doctorate from The Nimes Theological Institute
in France where he has taught. He enjoys traveling and
lecturing as well as serving as lay college pastor for
his church.
He lives with his wife and two daughters in Southern California.
You can visit his website at www.billmyers.com.

About The Face of God

“THE TERRORIST has learned of supernatural stones used by the Old
Testament High Priests to hear the audible voice of God. As the
mastermind of a deadly plot that will soon kill millions, he has had a
series of dreams instructing him to find the stones. Everything else is
in place. The wrath of God is poised and ready to be unleashed. All that
is stopping him is . . .
THE PASTOR. His wife has been murdered and his faith is crumbling
before his very eyes. With his estranged son, he also searches for the
stones in hopes they will rekindle his dying faith and love.With the lives of millions hanging in the balance, these two men of
opposing faiths collide in an unforgettable showdown. “The Face of God”
is another thrilling and thought-provoking novel by a master of the
heart and suspense, C.S. Lewis Honor Award winner, Bill Myers.”

Read the Excerpt!

Steeling his resolve, Daniel
turned and entered the darkened room. His son, Tyler, and the owner
followed. But when Helen tried to enter, Nayra remained in front of the
woman, her small frame blocking Helen’s larger one.
“You must wait here.”
“What?”
“Your presence is not welcome.”
“What do you—”
“You are a Jew; you are not welcome.”
The tension between them was palpable. And for a moment it seemed
uncertain whether Helen would back down or not. Then reluctantly she
agreed. But she would not leave the doorway. Apparently, she was going
to stand right there and wait. Just she and the two dozen pair of eyes
stealing peeks at her.
Inside, an old man greeted them. He sat on a rug and appeared even less
conscious of dental hygiene than did the restaurant’s owner. His mouth
worked the end of a plastic tube that led to a hookah water pipe. The
air was full of pungent, sweet smoke. Not far away two or three younger
men stood, slouched in the shadows behind him.
He turned and spoke to Nayra. She nodded and translated. “Please, sit.” She motioned Daniel toward the cushions in front of him.
“Tell him we will stand,” Daniel said.
Nayra spoke to the old man in Arabic. He shrugged, then said something else.
“He would like you to come closer,” Nayra said. “His eyes are no longer good, and he would like to see your face.”
Daniel turned to Tyler, who nodded. He moved forward until he was
directly under the light of a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling.
The man grinned broadly. “Shukran, shukran.” Then he spoke something else.
“He would like to see the stone,” Nayra said.
“Stone?”
“The Levi Stone.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the old man’s. Even in the shadows he could see
the milky cataracts. “Tell him . . .”—he cleared his throat—“tell him it
is in good hands.”
More Arabic was exchanged. “Your hands?” Nayra asked.
“Perhaps.”
The old man chuckled, then asked something else in Arabic. Nayra translated. “He wants to know if you have had any dreams?”
Daniel tried not to stiffen. “We all dream.”
The man grinned again, obviously enjoying the repartee. He answered and
Nayra translated. “Yes, but how many of us dream of . . .”—she turned
back to the old man to confirm what she’d heard, then returned to
Daniel—“how many of us dream of the face of God?”
Daniel felt the blood drain from his cheeks. The old man saw it and
cackled softly. Apparently, he had his answer. Turning to his
companions, he gave a curt order. One of the young men obeyed, producing
a small box of olive wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Holding it with
great care, he approached the old man. It was only then that Daniel
noticed the rifle dangling from the boy’s shoulder. As he stepped into
the light, his two associates moved forward, making it clear that
everything was being carefully observed and carefully protected.
The old man took the box into his knotted, arthritic hands. He spoke
again and Nayra translated. “I too have had dreams, Pastor. The dream of
a face. But unlike your dream, mine is the face of a—”
The explosion shook the room with such force that Daniel nearly lost his
balance. He heard the old man cry out but his voice was lost in another
explosion. And another.
“Rockets!” the owner’s voice shouted. “Helicopter gunships!”
Adrenaline surged through Daniel as another explosion pounded the room,
knocking him to his knees. The light was gone but he could hear the
plaster and concrete falling around him, felt smaller chunks bouncing
off his shoulders and head. Dust filled the room, making it nearly
impossible to breathe.
“Outside!” the owner shouted and coughed. A back door was suddenly
kicked open and blinding light stabbed Daniel’s eyes. “Everybody
outside!”
He staggered to his feet. To his left he saw the boy with the rifle
helping the old man do the same. More explosions shattered the room.
Pounding, deafening, throwing Daniel into Tyler. Somehow they kept their
balance and stumbled toward the light. Coughing and gagging, they
emerged into a narrow street, one end already blocked by smoke.
“This way!” one of the young men shouted, waving. “This way!”
Everyone turned and started to follow. Everyone but Daniel.
“Dad!” Tyler yelled over his shoulder. “Come on!”
“Where is he?” Daniel shouted, straining to see through the dust. “Where is the old man?”
“What?”
“The old man!”
Tyler spotted him at the door. “Right there, behind you!”
He spun around to see the old man emerge into the light, clutching the
wooden box, leaning heavily upon his young assistant. Daniel heard the
rocket coming but had no time to cover his face before the apartment
next door exploded. The concussion threw him backward, pelting his skin
with rock and concrete as he landed hard on the ground. But he only
remained a moment. Even as the debris rained around him, he scrambled to
his feet.
“Tyler!” he shouted. “Tyler!” He squinted through the billowing dust, choking, his throat on fire. “Tyler!”
“Here!” his son cried, coughing. “Over here!”
He turned to see Tyler staggering to his feet, helping Nayra to hers.
The debris stopped falling and was replaced by the distant pop of
automatic gunfire and panicked cries.
“He’s hurt!” Nayra shouted. She motioned to the old man, who lay under
his young assistant. She raced toward them and Tyler followed. But it
wasn’t the old man who was hurt. It was the aide. He did not move. And
by the way his body was sprawled in the dirt, his neck grotesquely
twisted, his eyes staring lifelessly, Daniel knew he would not move
again.
The old man was struggling to crawl out from under him, shouting orders.
Nayra nodded and yelled to Tyler, “Get his gun! Get his gun!”
But Tyler had frozen. All he could do was stare at the young man. As far
as Daniel knew, his son had never seen death before— except in movies
or video games.
The gunfire grew closer.
Again the old man shouted and again Nayra translated. “Get the rifle!”
But Tyler could not move. With some effort Nayra pushed the aide aside
and pulled the rifle off his shoulder. The movement shamed Tyler back
into action. He reached for the old man and helped him to his feet.
“We must leave here!” Nayra shouted.
Tyler nodded and, allowing the old man to lean on him, started off in the only clear direction.
Daniel had just moved to join them when a soldier suddenly came into
view. Another youngster. Younger than Tyler. He shouted something in
Hebrew, an obvious order for them to stop.
Daniel slowed but Tyler did not. Instead he turned and began hobbling in the opposite direction.
“Tyler!” Daniel yelled.
Again the soldier shouted.
“Tyler, stop!”
The soldier raised his rifle.
“Tyler!” Gripped with fear, Daniel started toward the soldier, trying to explain, trying to draw his attention.
But the soldier ignored him and took aim.
“No!” Daniel twirled to Tyler. “Tyler, no!” Then back to the soldier. “No!” He started running at him. “No! No!”
The soldier fired.
Daniel spun around just in time to see the old man go limp in Tyler’s
arms. But Tyler did not stop. In fear and panic he dragged the man
faster.
“Tyler!”
The soldier aimed again.
Seeing no alternative, Daniel leaped between them, waving his arms, as a
second shot was fired. Only it did not hit Tyler. Nor did it hit
Daniel. Instead it was the young soldier who crumbled to the ground.
Confused, Daniel turned. He spotted Nayra lowering her rifle. She stared
at it as if it were some strange creature as she tried to fathom what
it had just done, what she had just done.
Three armed soldiers rounded the corner. They spotted their comrade,
then Nayra, and immediately shouted, demanding that she drop the rifle.
She held it at arm’s length, like a poisonous snake, and released it. It
clattered onto the road. The soldiers started toward her.
Suddenly a white Mercedes slid around the corner, accelerating,
barreling down on them. Having no time to take aim, the soldiers
realized it would be smarter to leap for their lives. They weren’t
wrong. The driver missed them by inches. The car fishtailed, avoiding
the fallen soldier, then skidded to a stop directly beside Nayra.
“Get in!” a voice shouted.
Nayra stood paralyzed, still in shock.
The driver reached over and opened the passenger door. The sun’s
reflection off the windshield made it impossible to recognize the face,
but Daniel knew the voice.
“Get in!”
Woodenly, Nayra obeyed. She had barely entered before the tires spun
furiously. The car slid to another stop between Daniel and Tyler.
“Hurry!” Helen shouted. “Get in! Get in!”
Daniel turned to help Tyler, who had kneeled down with the man. But the
dark, widening circle in the old-timer’s back, and the ashen look on
Tyler’s face, made it clear that his son had just witnessed his second
death in as many minutes.
The soldiers behind them were scrambling to their feet, shouting, raising their rifles.
“Get in!” Helen yelled.
Daniel obeyed. But not Tyler. Not before the boy spotted the box near the old man’s hand and tentatively reached for it.
“Get in!”
The first bullet sank into the Mercedes’ left rear fender with a
sickening thud. The second missed the car, sending up a cloud of dust
inches from Tyler’s feet. He did not have to be told again. He grabbed
the box, leaped up, and raced to the car. More shots were fired as he
tumbled into the backseat, as the Mercedes sped off, as he tried more
than once to grab the back door until he finally slammed it shut.

FTC Information:
I received this book from the publisher through Pump Up Your Book Promotions for a honest review. I have Amazon
links on my review pages but I do not make any money from
these because of NC laws. I put them solely for people to
check out the books on a retail site.